


Let Me See Your Jazz Hands

by CitrusVanille



Series: Model!Jonny [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dating, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Model!Jonny, Nerves, New Relationship, Out Characters, hockey player!Patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: When Patrick had first broached the idea, Jonny had seemed like he was interested.





	Let Me See Your Jazz Hands

**Author's Note:**

> AmIThereYet asked for the team meeting Jonny at a team barbecue or something. This isn't a barbecue, but he does meet the team?
> 
> Thanks always to amoergosum for the beta. <3

When Patrick had first broached the idea, Jonny had seemed like he was interested, had even checked his schedule to make sure he didn’t have anything he was already committed to. But the last couple days, he’s been weirdly antsy. Patrick hasn’t really wanted to push, since any time he’s tried to bring it up, Jonny brushes him off, tells him it’s nothing, he’s imagining things. That’s not exactly like Jonny, but being antsy isn’t really like Jonny, either, so Patrick’s mostly just been trying to wait it out. He figures if there actually is a problem, Jonny will come out with it eventually.

He’s not wrong.

“Is this really a good idea?” Jonny asks, halfway dressed, the morning of.

Patrick blinks at him from where he’s sitting on the bed, pulling on his socks. “Putting on pants?” he asks slowly. “I mean, I’m generally a fan of you pantsless, you know it’s one of my favorite looks on you,” he gives Jonny an appreciative once-over, because, well, of course he does, “but going out without pants is generally frowned on, and I’m not sure how well you’d do in a holding cell.” He looks Jonny up and down again, waves at his general him-ness. “You’re very pretty.”

There’s a slight hint of red creeping up the back of Jonny’s neck – he always pretends he hates it, insists he gets more than enough of that at work, but he’s a complete sucker for being called pretty, and Patrick abuses that knowledge shamelessly – but he’s frowning determinedly. “I don’t mean getting dressed,” he says, wiggling in a very distracting manner to get his pants up over his butt and button them.

It takes actual effort not to give the pants a dirty glare, and Patrick’s pretty sure he’s only successful because they look damn good on Jonny, though, to be fair, most things look damn good on Jonny. There are reasons he’s in such high demand. “What’s not a good idea, then?”

“This – this family… thing,” Jonny flails a hand a bit uselessly, then moves on to pull a shirt over his head, which is a downright tragedy.

“Family skate?” Patrick raises an eyebrow. “The thing we’re supposed to be leaving for in five minutes?”

Jonny turns away to hunt for socks in the drawer he’s commandeered, so Patrick can’t see his face, but the color on the back of his neck is spreading, and Patrick’s pretty sure it’s not pleasure anymore. “Yes, that.” It’s not quite a mumble, because Jonny doesn’t mumble, but it’s pretty close.

Patrick bites his tongue before he can snap something about how if Jonny didn’t want to go, he damn well could have said something before they were practically running late for it. “You don’t want to go?” he asks when he has himself in check.

“It’s not that,” Jonny says, still poking in the drawer, and there are at least half a dozen pairs of socks in there, they can’t be that hard to find, which means Jonny is just stalling to avoid having to look at Patrick.

“Okay.” Patrick tries not to grit his teeth. He gets up and picks up his sweater, tugs it on over his button-down with a little more force than is strictly necessary. “What is it, then?” He doesn’t want to ask if Jonny’s having cold feet about actually meeting the team. He’s been incredibly chill about Patrick meeting his friends, had even laughed at Patrick for being nervous about it the first couple times, so it doesn’t quite fit, but Patrick can’t think of anything else it could be. And he really wants Jonny to meet the guys. They’ve seen him, at games and a couple practices, but only in passing, through the glass, and Patrick really kind of wants to show Jonny off. And they haven’t done the family thing yet, but Patrick wants to, and if Jonny doesn’t even want to meet the team, then Patrick’s not quite sure what to do.

“It’s just. A lot of people I don’t know,” Jonny tells the socks he’s finally pulled out of the drawer.

Patrick’s stomach sinks. “You don’t want to meet my friends,” he says, is a little proud of how steady his voice is, clenches his fingers into fists to keep from fidgeting.

“No!” Jonny turns around so swiftly he bangs his hip hard into the dresser, swears, then says again, looking at Patrick now, “No, I mean, not no I don’t, no I do. I do want to meet them. I just.” He rubs at his hip, making a face at what is probably already a very tender spot, and bites distractedly at his lower lip, the way he does when he’s not sure how to explain something. Patrick usually sees it when Jonny is trying to translate a French concept into English, and Patrick has a very Pavlovian response to it, both because of the lip biting and because of the French. He tells himself, very firmly, that now is not the time.

“You just?” Patrick prompts, when the silence has stretched a little too long. They are definitely going to be late.

Jonny huffs a breath. “I don’t want them to think I’m an idiot, okay?”

Patrick stares. “What?”

Jonny scowls at him. “I don’t want them to think I’m an idiot,” he repeats.

“No one’s going to think you’re an idiot,” Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re _not_ an idiot. Well,” he amends, gives Jonny a pointed look, “sometimes you are an idiot, like now.”

Jonny’s scowl deepens. “I can’t skate,” he says in a rush.

“You. What.”

“You heard me,” Jonny snaps, throws the balled socks in his hands at Patrick’s head.

Patrick catches them automatically, and just blinks at Jonny for a long moment. “But. You have skates. You brought them over for today,” he gestures vaguely towards the front door where Jonny had left the skates in question. “You and Tara went skating last week, didn’t you? When I was on the east coast. She said you were planning to go…” he trails off.

Jonny’s looking more awkward with every word. “We went,” he admits. “I wanted to make sure I remembered how. It’s been years. Since I lived in Winnipeg, probably. And I. Well. It wasn’t as easy as I remembered.”

“Did you –” Patrick cuts himself off, unrolls the socks for something to do with his hands and holds them out for Jonny to take. “Are you okay?” he asks as delicately as he can.

Jonny’s mouth twists wryly. “I’m fine,” he says, takes the socks and moves to sit down on the bed to put them on. “I only fell once. Landed on my ass. Nothing even bruised, except my dignity.”

Patrick laughs, can’t help it, and drops gracelessly onto the bed next to Jonny, leans against his shoulder. “I should probably check, just to make sure.”

“Shameless,” Jonny tells him, but he’s smiling a little himself. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your team.”

“Liar,” Patrick nudges Jonny’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t want to embarrass yourself, you couldn’t care less how I look.”

Jonny’s smile spreads as he looks back at Patrick. “True. You’re pretty embarrassing all on your own.”

“Liar,” Patrick says again, nudges him harder.

Jonny wraps an arm around Patrick to still him. “Not a bit of it,” he tells him, leans his head on top of Patrick’s.

“Jonny, look at me,” Patrick says, serious now, and Jonny pulls back just far enough to turn his head, so close Patrick could count his eyelashes. “If you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to. I do, you know that, but you don’t have to.”

“I know,” Jonny says softly, still watching Patrick’s face. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and Patrick can feel the exhale against his skin. “I want to.”

Patrick holds his gaze for a moment. “It will be fine,” he promises. “I can hold your hands the whole time, if you want, but even if you fall, no one will care.”

Jonny shakes his head, but closes the few inches between them to kiss Patrick on the mouth.

Patrick hums into it, presses a little closer.

It’s Jonny who breaks away, tilts his forehead against Patrick’s, eyes still closed. “We should go,” he says, doesn’t move.

Patrick sighs, and pulls back. “Okay,” he says, gets to his feet. “Let’s go watch you fall on your ass so I can kiss it better later.”

“Promises, promises,” Jonny laughs, but he pushes himself off the bed and follows Patrick out into the hall to get their coats and shoes.

+

Family skate is always a lot of fun. It’s great to see everyone’s families, and Patrick really loves getting to see all the kids. Jonny sticks close, but insists he doesn’t need Patrick holding him up. He meets the team gradually, seems to enjoy the way everyone hands their babies to Patrick while they introduce themselves. Patrick doesn’t mind in the least, tugs on little hats and high fives tiny hands, spins around to make them all laugh, or takes them for laps. His teammates are used to it, and mostly just collect their children back when he’s done without comment.

It’s unsurprising that Jonny doesn’t share their courtesy, though, to be fair, he’s also not gunning for a babysitter. “Glad you’ve finally found a friend your own age,” he tells Patrick with a smirk, when he sees Duncs’s kid determinedly following him around about half an hour in.

Patrick shrugs, easy with it. “Can’t help that I’m his favourite,” he says, grins.

Duncs, who has been indulgently trailing his son, laughs. “It’s true,” he allows, grins at Jonny’s surprised expression. “Kaner’s everyone’s favourite.”

There’s a subtle shift – so small Patrick almost misses it – but he sees the way Duncs’s grin goes edged for half a second, sees Jonny’s head tip and the corner of his mouth twitch up, recognizes it as some sort of acknowledgement passing between them. Well then. Not exactly how he saw this going, but probably better Duncs than Sharpy.

Pointedly ignoring the exchange, Patrick crouches to be on Colton’s level. “You practicing like I taught you, buddy?” he asks, grins when Colton nods.

“Broke a vase last night, stick handling,” Duncs tells them, apparently done with whatever threatening eye contact was going on in lieu of an actual shovel talk, and trying to sound stern as he looks down at his son.

Colton looks appropriately contrite. “Sorry?” he offers.

Patrick tries the same look on, even though he knows he can’t pull it off half as well as a four-year-old. “Sorry?”

Jonny and Duncs both laugh.

Patrick pushes himself upright as Colton’s attention strays to watch some of the other kids. “I really am sorry,” he says.

“Don’t worry about it. I hated the vase,” Duncs admits.

Patrick beams at him. “Well, then. Happy to help.”

Jonny shakes his head, but can’t hide his smile as Patrick taps Colton’s helmet and sends the kid off to race Carter and Kenzie Seabrook.

Duncs knocks a loose fist against Patrick’s shoulder, gives Jonny a short nod that might be a warning or might be approval, and skates off after his wayward offspring.

“Doing okay?” Patrick asks, pulls Jonny in closer with a hand on his wrist.

“I haven’t face-planted, yet,” Jonny says drily, “so, yes, doing okay.”

“Keep up the good work,” Patrick tells him, bops him on the head like he’d done to Colton just to watch Jonny go red and bat his hand away indignantly. He dodges easily, starts to turn to see who else is nearby that he can introduce Jonny to, and sees the way Jonny jerks, arms flailing, out of the corner of his eye, just in time to spin back to catch him before Jonny goes over.

“Shit,” Jonny gasps, clutches a little at Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick keeps his hands steady on Jonny’s hips. “I’ve got you,” he says, squeezes a little.

“Okay. I’m okay,” Jonny insists, but he’s still hanging on.

“No rush,” Patrick tells him, tries to keep his voice low and calming. He’s not sure how effective it is, but Jonny’s breathing is evening out anyway, and he slowly loosens his grip.

Jonny takes another deep breath, lets it out. “Okay,” he says again, more convincingly this time. “Crisis averted.” He offers a half smile as he carefully lets go entirely, then smiles a little more as Patrick releases him only to take a firm hold on one of his hands.

“Perfect timing,” Patrick tells him, spotting Sharpy and the Anisimovs making a beeline for them. “We’ve got incoming.”

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Arty says after Patrick’s made the introductions, shaking Jonny’s free hand and shooting Patrick a look that says he blames him entirely for the delay.

“We thought Peeks was making you up,” Sharpy puts in, wraps an arm around Patrick’s neck and tugs him in close.

Patrick flails a little, letting go of Jonny’s hand so he doesn’t overbalance him again, catches Sharpy solidly in the ribs, and manages to free himself. “You’re the ones who wanted to know why he kept showing up,” he points out, righting his clothes with slightly sharper jerks than necessary. He loves these guys, but he definitely doesn’t need them giving Jonny any extra fodder for mocking him.

“I love your jacket,” Ksenia cuts in, gesturing at Jonny’s coat and pointedly ignoring both Patrick and Sharpy. “Cole Haan?”

Jonny looks startled for half a second, then nods. “Yeah.”

“Very nice. Cashmere?” she asks, touches a finger to the shirt he’s got on underneath, then pulls back, as if realizing that might be rude.

Jonny laughs, only a little awkwardly. “I didn’t think I looked – I wasn’t trying to dress up.” The back of his neck has gone a little red again with embarrassment.

Patrick slides an arm around his waist, under the jacket, only partly to make sure Jonny stays upright. He hadn’t realized before how soft the shirt was, rubs his hand more slowly across the small of Jonny’s back, feels him shiver under the touch. “You look very dressed down,” he says when Jonny looks at him in question.

Jonny laughs again, softer this time. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he says, and he’s teasing, but he’s smiling properly again, so Patrick counts it as a win. “Besides,” he smirks, and there’s that confidence back. “I know I always look good next to you.”

Arty chuckles, and Ksenia looks amused, but Sharpy’s laugh is far more gleeful than it has any right to be. “And let’s be real here, Peeks,” he says, grin wicked. “You wouldn’t know quality it if bit you in the ass.”

“Not true,” Patrick protests mildly, drags his hand over Jonny’s back again, loves the response he gets. He doesn’t have to take this from any of them. “I know Jonny’s quality.” He leers pointedly up at Jonny, loves the way Jonny leans harder into him and goes fully red, not from embarrassment this time.

“Overshare,” Sharpy groans, shoves a hand in Patrick’s face to push him away, and then skates off to harass someone else for a change.

Arty and Ksenia both laugh this time, and then wander off as Jonny leans down towards Patrick.

“Need me to prove I’m quality again?” he asks, voice low in Patrick’s ear. One of his hands has slid under the hem of Patrick’s jersey to rest on his butt, and he squeezes, just a bit. Patrick pushes closer automatically, then pokes him hard in the waist in retaliation.

“There are kids,” he points out, wishing there weren’t.

It’s Jonny’s turn to laugh, but there’s a bit of a groan under it. “When we get home,” he says, squeezes again before he lets go.

“Promises, promises,” Patrick quips, just to hear Jonny laugh again, then drags him off to meet a cluster of the rookies and their girlfriends.


End file.
